


Discovering Hope

by dooliandrake



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fenris Needs a Hug, Painting, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 04:26:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7085623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dooliandrake/pseuds/dooliandrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris is picking up a new hobby and he's not extra keen on letting the others know. Unfortunately, when Anders comes to find him, he's too sick to do much about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discovering Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first official fanfiction for any fandom. I just have a lot of Fenris-related feels. I'm very bad at titles and I'm not sure this isn't garbage, but I thought it was alright when I reread it, so I hope someone else can enjoy it as well.  
> warning: there is blood

“Fenris isn’t here,” Aveline said, standing beside Hawke with her eyes locked forward. “I know he received the invitation, but I have heard nothing.”  
“He never misses these events,” Hawke muttered, her nose wrinkling in distaste as an attendant pressed a glass of some delicate, brightly colored liqueur into her hand. “And besides, I—” Hawke wasn’t keen on letting on that she was falling deeper in love with those restless green eyes every time she saw them. “I had something to ask him. Some business.” She added hastily.  
The secret wasn’t holding up well. She suspected Varric. He’d already nudged her arm twice tonight, once with the whispered comment, “where’s the broody boyfriend?”  
“For the last time,” she had snapped, “he’s not my boyfriend.”  
“Are you worried?” Aveline turned now to look at Hawke. “Even Anders came, and I told him he didn’t have to come, since it’s dangerous for him. He wanted to come. It’s in your honor, and he respects you greatly. As, I suspect, Fenris does as well.”  
“He’s the only one who isn’t here.”  
“I haven't heard from him,” Aveline said with a shrug. Hawke stalked away.  
Anders approached Hawke half an hour later. She was looking out a window, down at the courtyard. Guests tired of the air inside mingled there, their dark forms splitting and merging with the shadows. None of them had the familiar blue markings distinguishing them. Hawke kept looking for Fenris to step out of the shadows, fashionably late, she supposed. He would.  
“I’m surprised Fenris didn’t come,” Anders said quietly, leaning against the window sill.  
“To tell the truth, I’m rather disappointed,” Hawke said, relieved that it was Anders and not another merchant trying to get on her good side. Anders was easier to talk to.  
“Not worried?”  
“Why would I be worried?” Hawke _was_ worried. Perhaps Fenris was upset with her. The last time they had spoken had been only days after he had killed Hadriana, and they had met in Fenris’ mansion. Hawke thought of that conversation often, and was furious with herself for being so forward. She got heady around him, and let her tongue slip. She’d as good as said she wanted to touch him, to let him touch her. It was true he made her giddy, but it hadn’t been the right time. He was still reeling from Hadriana’s death. How dare she try to make light of that? So maybe he hadn’t spoken to her since then—hadn’t come tonight—because he was upset.  
“You are worried,” Anders said. He sighed. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I’ve been unfair to the elf. He feels strongly about mages, but he went through things because of them that no one should ever have to endure. I thought too much of myself—felt like he was attacking me. But when I saw the look on his face when he heard that that woman was there, I saw a bit more of him than I had realized existed. He was really scared.”  
“What are you saying, Anders?” Hawke lowered her voice and leaned on the sill as well, still watching the shadows below.  
“When you see someone that strong, who shouldn’t be frightened of anything, _scared_...it shows you a new side of things.”  
“I knew we had to go,” Hawke agreed. “We have to help him escape his past.”  
“Do you want me to go check on him?”  
“What, now?”  
“He’ll expect me to be blunt. We haven’t had exactly pleasant words, he and I. But we do have you in common, and we have a very common respect for you. That kind of respect, and what we owe you, demands at least a response to the invitation. Not responding, not showing up—rather rude and disrespectful.”  
“He’s probably...busy.”  
“Fenris isn’t _busy_. He’s a squatter in a rotting old mansion. All he does is hide in there and brood.” Anders buried his fingers in his hair.  
“You don’t have to go now,” Hawke said. “Maybe I'll go by tomorrow.”  
“It’s not far,” Anders said, pushing away from the window sill. “I’ll come back after, maybe with the snarling elf in tow, if he’s presentable. The party won’t be over for hours yet.”  
Hawke sighed. “I'd come with you if I could get away.”  
“That’s the trouble with having parties held in your honor,” Anders chuckled. “I’ll away to fetch your prince, my lady.”  
“Anders!”  
“Varric swears—”  
“I don’t care what Varric swears. You know he exaggerates everything for the sake of a good story.”  
“Alright, alright.” Anders grinned. “All the same, he presents a good case.”  
“Try to be back by nine,” Hawke said, pushing Anders towards the door, “that’s when Merrill promised we’d have cake.”  
“Your wish is my command.”  
The streets were calmer than usual tonight. He called up at the broken bedroom window before trying the door.  
“Yo, Fenris! Broody! You can’t hide in there forever!”  
No sound came from the mansion. Anders had a bad feeling about the situation that he couldn’t explain. He called again.  
“Fenris! If you don’t answer me, I’m going to come in there and get you myself!”

Fenris started awake at the sound. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep. He could never seem to sleep with whatever had gotten ahold of him. And then unexpectedly he would wake up, always feeling worse than before. The fever and the shivering came and went. So did the vomiting. His mind was in a constant fog. But he recognized Anders’ voice.  
If Anders was there, he was there with a purpose. And if so, he would surely come in—the man was insufferably stubborn. —And there was the painting in the entryway. Fenris groaned softly and forced his aching body from the bed. Half of the floor was a soggy puddle. He shook his head to fling the rainwater from his hair, and regretted it immediately. The headache flared into a roar of pain. He pressed his palm against his forehead and slammed his shoulder into the door, swinging it open. He had to get downstairs before Anders decided to let himself in—he had to cover up the painting. No one could see that.  
Anders was still yelling. Fenris fell down the last few steps. He hadn’t been sick like this in a very long time—maybe never. He felt nauseous now. He hoped he could keep it down until Anders left.  
He could easily see the painting in the dim half-light, the deep crimson highlighted against the pale plaster. Fenris had taken up painting as a way to pass the time. He had tried to learn to read from the various books still intact in the mansion, but it was so difficult with nowhere to start. He was ashamed to ask someone to teach him. He would be a very slow pupil. Painting was just imitation, and he had seen paintings before. Some were poorly done even to his unpracticed eye. He thought he could learn—teach himself—and there were so many walls in this mansion, and they were already ruined, so what harm could a little paint do?  
It wasn't that he was embarrassed of his new hobby. He didn't really care if the others found out. Aveline already knew. She knew the most actually—she'd walked in on him painting. A hawk. He had been making a study of the bird. Just before he’d gotten sick, he’d painted another one. He thought it a good likeness, even though they had golden eyes, not the brown ones he had done. Hawke’s eyes were brown...he shook his head. He couldn’t hear Anders anymore. Either he had either given up or would try the door next. Fenris dragged a can of white paint towards the wall. He jammed the thin shard of metal under the lid and threw his weight on it to pry it open. It gave way just as Anders began to pound on the door on the other side of the room. Fenris started to his feet, picking up a brush and dipping it hurriedly into the paint. The very last thing he wanted was for Anders to know about his admiration for Hawke. Even Fenris still wasn’t sure what he felt, but he knew that this painting gave some of it away, and he wasn't ready for that. Somehow, it wasn’t just admiration. It wasn’t just respect. The pounding was accompanied by more shouting.  
The paintbrush was too slow. The deep red of the bird was visible through the thin layer the brush laid onto the wall.  
Fenris hissed and threw the brush aside.  
“I’m coming in, Fenris. I know you’re here!”  
Fenris felt a tickle in the back of his throat, a burn as well. Too familiar over the last few days. _So long as I can hold it off until Anders leaves_ , he thought, and heaved the paint can with him as he staggered to his feet. The door opened as Fenris tipped the can, spilling paint down the wall.  
“What in the Maker’s name are you doing, Fenris?!”  
Fenris watched the paint run in thick rivulets down the wall. The can was emptied quickly. He dropped it and sank to the floor with a wheeze. Most of the painting was gone, now. But his head was spinning. His stomach was doing flips. He could taste the blood on the inside of his cheek and felt the cough ready to break out at any time.  
“Leave me, Anders,” he said stiffly, with as much dignity as he had left.  
“Painting? At this hour?” Anders looked up at the rent ceiling, open to the sky. “It’s too dark to see anything.”  
“I suppose it has gotten late,” Fenris said, struggling slowly to his feet, one hand pressed against the wall to steady himself. He kept his back to Anders, certain the strain on his face would give him away.  
“What’s wrong?”  
“Nothing’s wrong. You are intruding at a very late hour.”  
“You’re short of breath.”  
“I’m tired.”  
“So turn around and explain to me why you sent no reply to Aveline, and why you aren’t at Hawke’s celebration tonight?”  
“Celebration?” Fenris did turn around, but as he did so, the cough finally broke the surface. He doubled over, coughing for nearly a full minute. There was blood on his arm when he straightened again.  
“I’m afraid I am indisposed today.” He choked and took a deep breath. “Please excuse me.” He tucked his arm behind his back and nodded politely, turning towards the door.  
“Was that blood? Fenris, what’s wrong?”  
Suddenly Anders was standing beside him, pulling his arm from behind his back. Not all of the blood had gotten wiped onto his clothes.  
Fenris growled. “I told you, mage, I am indisposed.” He jerked his arm away, and nearly toppled over when Anders let him go. His head hurt _so much_.  
“I’m not leaving until I have answers.”  
“Please, just let me be,” Fenris said, looking Anders square in the face now. Just for a moment. And then he almost fell again when he took a step towards the door. Cursing, he grabbed for the wall to support himself. His feet dragged. It was the illness, whatever it was. Making him look like a fool.  
“You really are unwell,” Anders said, more to himself than to Fenris. He put a hand on Fenris’ arm and Fenris hardly comprehended what he was doing until Anders had steered him halfway up the stairs to the bedroom.  
“I’m quite able to manage,” he said, trying to pull away.  
“Clearly, you cannot,” Anders said, tightening his grip. He lay Fenris down on his bed, with Fenris still trying to object.  
“Look, I’m going to try to determine what’s wrong,” Anders said, more gently than Fenris had ever heard from the mage—at least when directed towards him. “I’m going to use magic—it’s faster, but don’t worry. It won’t hurt. You shouldn’t feel it at all.”  
Fenris growled and tried to sit up. Anders pushed him back.  
“You can...look away, if that makes it easier,” Anders said, one hand still on Fenris’ shoulder.  
Fenris glared again, but finally turned his head towards the wall. He pressed his eyes shut and stiffened his body, waiting to feel the invasion of Anders’ magic, but he didn’t feel anything. A minute passed, and he still felt nothing.  
He turned back, and shivered when he saw the green glow beneath Anders’ hands. Now Fenris saw it, he thought he could feel it, but it was so light that he could have been imagining it.  
Anders let the green light die out and then he looked back at Fenris, concern clearly visible.  
“How long has this been going on?”  
“It hasn’t been long,” Fenris muttered. “It will pass—there is no need—”  
“It won’t pass,” Anders said, “not without getting much worse first. It feels like some kind of disease or rot. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s something foul having to do with all those corpses you refuse to get rid of.”  
Fenris wasn’t sure what to say. He had been meaning to get rid of some of them, but he’d been so exhausted lately.  
“If I’m correct,” Anders continued, “you’ve been vomiting and coughing up blood, haven’t been eating well, you’ve had frequent dizzy spells and fevers, and your head hurts.”  
“Sounds like everything that could possibly be wrong,” Fenris growled.  
“I’m not wrong, though, am I?”  
“Not much,” Fenris admitted, “though I have been eating. And I have _not_ been vomiting blood.”  
Anders sighed. “And here I told Hawke I’d be back tonight.”  
“What’s wrong with Hawke?”  
“Nothing’s wrong. She’s just out of sorts because Aveline is hosting a celebration in her honor and you never responded to the invite and didn’t show up.”  
“I do not recall any invite,” Fenris said, trying to think if he had received anything. “Everything I’ve received or has been left here is there on that dresser.” He pointed.  
Anders went to look.  
“Oh, poor Aveline,” he groaned. “She must have sent someone else to deliver it. It says here on the envelope, _‘please open and read this letter to the recipient: Fenris of Kirkwall.’_ They must not have read the directions.”  
“I recall no such thing happening,” Fenris said.  
“They obviously never read it to you. The envelope is unopened.” Anders pulled a chair up beside the bed, eyeing the puddle on the floor as he did so.  
“How can you stand to live here?”  
“I won’t grace that with a reply.”  
Anders sits in silence as Fenris folds his arms and stews under his gaze.  
“Aren’t you going to leave? I believe you must tell Hawke that I received the invitation too late. I am unable to attend tonight.”  
“I can’t leave you like this.”  
Fenris frowns quizzically. “It is easy enough to find the door. I am in no danger. I will rest now.”  
“You are in danger,” Anders said. “I’ve seen people die of these symptoms. It’s weakened you.”  
“Such is always the case with any illness,” Fenris said. “It will pass, as they all do.”  
“This is different,” Anders growled. “I should know. Now rest.”  
“How can I rest with a _mage_ hovering over me?”  
“If it were anyone else, I would already be trying to heal them,” Anders snapped. “I’m trying very hard not to begin on you.”  
“You would heal me?”  
“I could at least do a little to ease it for now,” Anders said, “but I know you won’t permit me.”  
“What would you do?”  
Anders looked up in surprise. “You’re considering it?”  
“I’m not stupid, mage. I have difficulty sleeping in this state, and I would benefit from a little uninterrupted rest. My last sleep was ruined by someone shouting at my window.”  
“You shouldn’t feel anything,” Anders said, putting a hand on Fenris’ arm. “Maybe a little warmth.”  
“I would be lying if I were to say it would be unwelcome,” Fenris said, almost too quietly to hear, closing his eyes and turning again towards the wall.  
Anders heard him though. _So he is softening towards me_ , he thought, _or else he really is in that much pain_. Anders preferred the former thought, though the latter was more likely. All the same, he let the magic run through his palms into Fenris. Fenris shivered nearly imperceptibly at the first contact, but then seemed to relax a little.  
Anders sought out the raw places in Fenris’ throat and lungs and let the magic soothe them over, drawing on the flesh around to try to expedite healing. With all the coughing and vomiting, there had been little chance for the sore spots to improve. There were several of them, more than Anders liked, and Anders focused on the ones that were deeper in the lungs—those could be very ill for Fenris if they were to continue to deteriorate. There was blood there too—Anders grimaced at just how much there was in his lungs. He couldn't move it without bringing it directly up his throat and removing it from his body entirely.  
Broody wouldn't like that.  
“Fenris,” Anders said softly.  
“Are you finished?” Fenris’ voice was strained.  
“There is blood in your lungs. I need to remove it, but I'm afraid the only way is to bring it up your throat.”  
Fenris groaned. “I knew this was going to be troublesome,” he said. Anders expected him to refuse. It was not a pleasant prospect after all.  
“Very well,” Fenris said, sighing.  
“You're sure? It will be unpleasant, and it may hurt a bit.”  
“Just do it before I change my mind, Mage.”  
“Do you have something I can hold under your head?” Anders looked around. “I need somewhere for the blood to go.”  
Fenris sat up, grimacing.  
“You will have to search the kitchen,” he said. “I have nothing of that sort up here.”  
“Alright, stay here and I'll go look.”  
Anders stomped down the stairs. The kitchen was a sorry mess. It didn't look like Fenris had touched anything but the pantry cupboard, where a very meager supply of half rotten fruit was stored. “Maybe this is why he's sick,” Anders grumbled, fishing through the sticky mess. He found nothing edible. He must have been lying about eating—unless he was eating _this_. In the cupboard below he found another bowl, and a glass. He filled the glass with water and returned upstairs, stumbling a little on the way.  
“It's so dark in here,” he muttered, dropping into the chair.  
“I have little need for light.” Fenris took the bowl and looked at Anders expectantly.  
“I think it would be easiest if you turned so I could put my hands on your back,” Anders said. “I'll make it as painless as I can.”  
“I care little for pain,” Fenris said, readjusting himself. “Just make it fast.”  
It was fast, and it sounded painful. Fenris squeezed his eyes shut until Anders pulled the bowl from him. His mouth tasted like iron. He looked very drained. His ears drooped.  
“Drink this,” Anders said, handing him the water. He held the bowl where Fenris couldn't see just how much blood he had vomited up.  
It didn't look like a lot, but to have been in his lungs, it was quite a bit. Anders felt sick just looking at it. He set it on the floor for now.  
“That should help with your bloody cough,” Anders said.  
“How very funny,” Fenris said dryly.  
“My puns are lost on you I see.”  
“I apologize that I am too tired to humor you.”  
Anders sighed. “Why don't you lie down again?”  
He was about to put his hands back on Fenris, but Fenris pulled his arm away.  
“No more magic,” he said. “I have had enough.”  
Anders nodded. “Can I do anything else for you?”  
“Please relay my apology to Hawke,” Fenris said quietly. “I meant no disrespect to her.”  
“It is not your fault,” Anders said.  
“I know,” Fenris said quickly. “Just go.”  
“At least let me help you get to sleep.”  
Fenris considered, examining Anders’ face.  
“Alright,” he said finally, turning his face once more towards the wall.  
Anders put one hand against Fenris’ forehead. Fenris flinched, but let Anders continue. After a few minutes, he was fast asleep.  
Anders sighed and took the bowl and empty glass downstairs to empty the red liquid into the kitchen washbasin. He rinsed out any traces of blood and left it there. The glass he refilled with water and brought back upstairs to leave on the chair beside the bed.  
Anders paused in the front hall to look at what Fenris had been so eager to hide. He said that Anders had woken him up, so he must have run down immediately to dump an entire can of paint down the wall. He could see a little of what had been there before. It looked like part of a bird. He didn’t think it had been there before. And there were paintbrushes on the floor. Had Fenris been...painting? Not the whole wall, but a picture? Anders found it hard to imagine, the sour elf with his nose inches from the wall, paint smudges on his fingers. Maybe his frown was smoothed as he did so, head tipped to one side. Anders hurried back to the estate.

Hawke frowned at him from where she stood at the front of the room, graciously receiving the first slice of Merrill’s cake.  
Anders met her aside once she could get away.  
“What took you so long? Is that blood? You didn't fight, did you? What happened?”  
“Broody never got the invitation. Or rather, he got it but he couldn't read it.”  
“Well, why didn't you bring him back with you?”  
“He's sick. Really sick.”  
“That's _his_ blood?”  
“I haven't seen anyone that bad in a long time.”  
“Is he all right now? Did you heal him?” Merrill’s cake was forgotten.  
“Surprisingly, he did let me heal him a little,” Anders said, “which says a lot since he hates magic, and hates me even more I think.”  
“Is he in pain?”  
“Less now, I hope. He was sleeping when I left him.”  
“Ohhh, I should have visited him sooner,” Hawke moaned.  
“I'll be back tomorrow to see if I can do more for him.”  
“Let me come with you.”  
Anders nodded.

They met at Hawke's estate.  
“What's that?” Hawke gestured to the basket Anders held under one arm.  
“Food. Broody’s got nothing but rotten fruit in his kitchen.”  
“Oh.” Hawke looked mournful.  
“He'll be alright,” Anders said. “If he'll let me heal him again, I know what to do now. I was up all night reviewing some notes I took after treating an elf from the alienage with similar symptoms. His symptoms are worse, though, so I suspect it's from the corpses, not the rotten food in his kitchen. But it's still rot. I think it might kill him if I don't stop it.”  
“Let’s hurry then.”  
Fenris was awake when they arrived, and hadn't been expecting them. He was in his study, furiously tearing up several large sheets of thick paper.  
“Fenris! Why aren't you sleeping?”  
Fenris was on his feet instantly. His face appeared flushed.  
“I do not wake because I choose to, Hawke.” He saw Anders behind her. “Have you come to try to cure me?”  
“Anders was quite worried about you,” Hawke said. “He insisted. He stayed up all night trying to find the best way to help.”  
Anders set the basket of food on the desk.  
“You're still in danger,” he said.  
“You would use magic again?”  
“As little as possible,” Anders said, “and only to expedite healing. A potion would be very slow, and may not help. The disease is embedded very deep.”  
Fenris sighed and sat again at the desk, hanging his head.  
“I see I have little choice but to rely on your skill.”  
“I brought food as well,” Anders said. “It will be important to eat and get your strength back.”  
“I am no child.”  
“Just pretend,” Anders said.  
“I have no memory of being a child, so do you not think that _pretending_ might be difficult?”  
Anders huffed, exasperated. “Forget I said anything. Let's go upstairs so you can lie down.”  
“I can lie here just as well.”  
“There's hardly any rug on this floor!” Hawke exclaimed.  
“It makes little difference.”  
“It does to me,” Hawke snapped. “I won't have you lying on the floor.”  
Fenris led the way upstairs. There were rough paintings along the wall. He hurried past them. Hawke and Anders looked, but knew better than to say anything. Anders had not seen these the previous night, but had mentioned to Hawke on the way that he thought Fenris had taken up painting.  
Fenris crawled obediently onto the bed and regarded Hawke with a blank expression that was impossible to read. He only looked at Anders when he approached.  
Anders frowned as he put a hand gently on Fenris’ forehead.  
“You're very hot,” he said. “You're worse today than yesterday.”  
“It comes and goes,” Fenris said sourly, pushing Anders’ hand away.  
“I will need to touch you again today to try to heal you,” Anders said. “I will be careful.”  
Fenris looked at Hawke pleadingly, if such an expression were possible for him. It certainly was a foreign look on the elf’s face and Hawke decided she did not like it. She sat in the chair beside the bed, a bit timid, unsure whether her attempts at comfort would be welcome.  
She wished she could do something more.  
Fenris lay back and Anders placed his hands on either side of Fenris’ head. A faint green glow appeared for a moment and then disappeared. Fenris was asleep.  
“You put him to sleep!”  
“He'll be more comfortable this way,” Anders said, shedding his coat.  
He removed Fenris’ shirt and gave a low whistle.  
“I never knew the markings went all the way down,” he said, running one finger along the skin beside a line of lyrium. He placed his hands carefully on either side of Fenris’ stomach. The lyrium flared momentarily and then the warm green glow built beneath Anders rough palms and sank through the skin. Anders closed his eyes as he guided the magic, searching for signs of the rot. There were traces of it everywhere, tiny particles of darkness latched onto organs or lodged in his blood. The magic purified it. Anders could feel it draining him. The illness was strong—it had been growing for some time.  
He slid his hands upward, purging as he went. He stopped over the chest. There was something there he knew he shouldn't touch. He pulled away and gasped as he felt the exhaustion overtake him.  
“Anders!”  
Hawke held onto him.  
“I'm not done,” Anders said, panting. “There's a lot of pain. I had to stop for a moment.” He gasped. “To breathe.”  
“Have you done enough yet?”  
Anders shook his head. “There is more. I think I’m nearly finished.”  
He took a deep breath and replaced his hands on Fenris’ chest, touching the skin as lightly as he could. The green light seeped into the skin, flaring the lyrium into bright blue again. Hawke let her hand slip over Fenris’s as her eyes watched his face. Anders was right, though, that it was better he be asleep for this. If Anders tried to do this while he was awake, he’d probably end up with a fist through his chest. Fenris did a lot of bluffing, but if there was one thing he really meant, it was _don’t touch him_.  
Anders’ hands slid upwards, gliding over the ridges of Fenris’ collarbones. He paused with his hands gently cupped around his neck. He had missed a few raw places in his throat the night before. He repaired them now. There was something Anders really loved about healing, and seeing the bodies of his patients immediately adjust to no longer being broken. Fenris’ breathing became easier and his jaw relaxed ever so slightly. He didn't look so angry when he was asleep.  
Hawke didn’t even notice when Anders pulled himself away.  
“You can let go now, Hawke,” Anders said, touching her shoulder. “He’s going to be fine.”  
She stood up quickly. “Are you okay, Anders?”  
“I’m fine, now. Broody really had some nasty stuff in there. You have to make him get rid of all those corpses downstairs now. I don’t want to have to do that again.”  
Hawke nodded. Never mind that she had no influence on what Fenris did. She hadn’t even spoken to him in at least a month now.  
“How long will he sleep?”  
“Not long now.”  
“Maybe we should leave him.”  
“Is the fearless Hawke...afraid?”  
“I’m only worried about him. What if he wants to be alone?”  
“What if he doesn’t?”  
“Maybe I should stay,” Hawke said, quietly. Uncertainly. Fear that Fenris was angry at her still lingered in the back of her mind. She couldn’t push it away.  
Anders paced to the door. He wanted to leave, but he wanted to make sure his patient was going to recover.  
“Did you see the paintings—”  
Hawke nodded.  
“I told you.”  
“You did.”  
Anders glanced back at the bed. “I'm glad he has you, Hawke.”  
“Why does everyone misunderstand our relationship? He doesn't have me. I haven't spoken to him in weeks.”  
“You wanted to.”  
“Well of course I wanted to. He's as much my friend as you, or Isabela, or Merrill.”  
“Varric isn't just making up stories,” Anders said.  
“If he's said anything about us—” Hawke tried to look threatening.  
“He's got his finger on the pulse of things,” Anders said. “Maybe we can’t see it, but he picks up on stuff no one sees. I think he's right about you and Fenris.”  
“What about us?”  
“You are both pretending you care as much for each other as you do for anyone else, when in reality you care more.”  
“Maybe I do,” Hawke says under her breath, “but how can you know what Fenris thinks?”  
“I think he painted a hawk on the wall in the front hall,” Anders said, cracking a small grin.  
“I didn't see it when we came in.”  
“He covered it up last night,” Anders said, “when I came. Like he was trying to hide it. From himself as much as me, I suspect.”  
Fenris groaned.  
“What do you suspect about me, mage?” He sat up and ran a hand through his hair.  
“I suspect you're a brooding artist under that prickly shell.”  
Fenris’ laugh was the most derisive snort Anders had heard from him yet. Fenris’ brows lowered into a firm glower.  
“Why did you put me to sleep? And _why_ did you remove my tunic?”  
“I didn't want to get punched or dismembered.”  
Hawke saw the flare of blue running up Fenris’ arm. She stepped between them.  
“How do you feel, Fenris?”  
He pouted, thinking. Adorably, Hawke noted.  
“My head no longer aches.” He raised the back of his hand to his forehead. “My temperature seems to have dropped as well.” He looked up at Anders. “I owe you thanks, m—Anders.”  
“I think that's the first time he's said my name,” Anders said, ignoring the pull in his chest that told him Fenris had to have been suffering acutely for the healing to have stirred such a reaction.  
Hawke smiled.  
“Anders is a treasure, really.”  
“I don't know that I'd go _that _far,” Fenris rumbled, folding his arms.  
“Since Broody appears to be restored to his normal grumpy self,” Anders said, “I'm going to leave. I need sleep. Make sure he eats,” he said, pointing at Hawke.  
She sat back down beside the bed.__

__“You mentioned something last time you were here,” Fenris said, quietly, once Anders had left, “that I have been thinking on.”  
“I did?” Hawke could only remember herself blundering over wanting to be close to him.  
“You said that friends listen to each other. And...care. And...that,” he paused. “You like to listen to me.”  
“I don't exactly remember,” Hawke said, “but all of those things are true.”  
“I would like to tell you something as well. A proper reply. I am afraid I was uncivil before.”  
“Oh, you were nothing of the sort,” Hawke said. “I was too forward and you were very gracious.”  
“Gracious.” A small smile danced on Fenris’ lips. “Hawke, I owe you sincere thanks, for everything. I should not have refused, before, when you asked—”  
“You did what was right,” Hawke said quickly.  
“I would offer you my body as a form of thanks,” Fenris said quietly. “I understand you would like to...touch me and I owe you greatly. Please let me serve you as thanks.”  
“Oh no,” Hawke sputtered. “Please don't.”  
“I have been well trained,” Fenris continued, “I know you would find it...pleasurable.”  
“No,” Hawke replied, jumping to her feet. “I require nothing. When I spoke before, I was being hasty. I—” She huffed. “I screwed up when I said that. I only meant it to be if you also wanted to.”  
“Certainly I would also find some pleasure in it.”  
“That's not what I mean,” Hawke moaned. “When you offer, you make it sound like it would be a duty you would fulfill. Friendship is never meant to be so.” She dropped into the chair and leaned in to take Fenris’ face between her hands.  
His eyes widened in surprise.  
“Don't ever think you have to give me anything,” she said, “least of all your body. I would never take advantage of you like that.”  
“I—I understood that it was your desire,” Fenris said, his face growing hot under Hawke’s gaze. “Between...friends...how could I withhold something you want?”  
“Oh, friendship is nothing like that,” Hawke said softly. She so wanted to hug him. Fenris had not had a chance to experience friendship, so he only knew the give and take of his relationship with Danarius. “I will show you how it works.” She pulled back and let her hands float to Fenris’ bare shoulders.  
“How it works?”  
“Would it be okay if I hug you? Now don't think about what _I_ want—if you would be uncomfortable, you're free to say no. It's your choice entirely.”  
“Free,” Fenris repeated quietly. He considered, and then nodded. “I would like that, I think.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“I have never been...hugged. I would...like to experience it.”  
“Oh,” Hawke sighed, sliding her hands across Fenris’ back and hugging him.  
“Am I supposed to...also put my arms around you?” Fenris muttered into her shoulder.  
“If you want to.”  
Slowly, she felt the gentle brush of his hands floating up her back before he wrapped his arms around her.  
“There,” she said softly. “This is something friends can do.” Fenris lifted his head and she let him go, sitting back.  
“Why?”  
“It is meant to comfort. How do you feel?”  
“I am oddly relaxed.”  
She chuckled.  
“I would not do that with Isabela,” Fenris said decidedly.  
“That's the best part,” Hawke said. “You get to choose.”  
The corner of Fenris’ mouth turned down as he thought.  
“Anders told me to make sure you eat,” Hawke said. “We should do that soon.” She picked up Fenris’ tunic and handed it back to him. “It didn't hurt, did it?”  
“What hurt?”  
“I touched your markings. Did they hurt?”  
Fenris shook his head. “You were very gentle.”  
“Now don't get too sappy,” Hawke teased, “or Varric will be saying you're a big softie.”  
Fenris pulled on his shirt and stretched.  
“I will convince him otherwise if he tries.”  
He got up and shifted his weight, testing himself for dizziness.  
“It's all gone,” he said.  
“Anders was very thorough. He was very worried for you.” Hawke led the way back to the downstairs study where the food had been left.  
“How does the mage do that?”  
“Do what?” Hawke paused at the bottom of the stairs.  
“He worried about my wellbeing when I have made it clear that he is unwelcome.” Fenris was standing on the stairs, absently looking over the paintings on the wall.  
“I think he knows that even though you may not like each other, you're both important to me, and to the others. It would grieve all of us if something were to happen to any of us, including you.”  
“Hmm.” Fenris followed Hawke into the study.  
“Let's eat in the kitchen,” Hawke said. “We can both sit there.”  
Fenris was pensive.  
Hawke ate very little, watching him.  
“Anders mentioned that he thinks you're an artist now,” Hawke said.  
Fenris reddened just slightly.  
“I am no such thing.”  
“Are those paintings on the stairs yours?”  
“Yes,” Fenris said slowly. “I meant to paint over them.”  
“They aren't bad,” Hawke said. “I just never expected it.”  
“There is not much to do here.”  
“I like it.”  
Fenris bent over his food, but there was a slight flush to the tips of his ears._ _

__Hawke stopped by Anders’ clinic the next day.  
“I think Varric is right,” she said. “Maybe Fenris cares more than he lets on. But I don't think he knows it.”  
“Are you officially together now, then?” Anders said roughly.  
Hawke shook her head, a little sadly.  
“He offered me his body. For...pleasure.”  
“Too much information,” Anders groaned.  
“I didn't, of course.” She was a little indignant. “He doesn't understand friendship. He thought he was obligated to give me something in return for helping him. I may have mentioned something the last time we had spoken that put the thought in his head.”  
“Varric is _definitely_ right about you.”  
“I can't let it become that with Fenris, though. He's not ready. He has to learn about friendship first. We did learn about hugs.” She grinned.  
Anders rolled his eyes.  
“It's going to be hard for him, I think.” Hawke sifted her fingers through some loose herbal flowers on Anders’ desk. “He has a hard time thinking of what he wants. His focus is on pleasing other people. It's all he's ever known.”  
Anders came up to her and gave Hawke a side hug. “If anyone is up to the job,” he said, “it's you.”  
“Thanks, Anders.”  
“Just don't give me any nasty details,” Anders said. “I'm not interested in how much of his body has those markings.”  
“Anders!”  
Anders laughed and pushed Hawke playfully.  
“Don't worry,” Hawke said, “if I ever find out, I won't be telling anyone.”  
“Okay, okay, time for you to go,” Anders said, shooing her towards the door.  
Hawke giggled in the streets, drawing inquisitive looks from the people she passed, but she didn't care. Tomorrow, Fenris had agreed to let Varric and a few of his friends help them get rid of all the corpses in the mansion. And she had just bought half a dozen cans of brightly colored paints to hide in the mansion where he would find them. It would take time for him to really understand the freedom of friendship, but Hawke had hope. And most importantly, so did Fenris._ _

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. All I want is for Fenris to be happy.  
> You can find me on my dragon age (fenris) tumblr: [protect-him](http://protect-him.tumblr.com).


End file.
